Not Just a Sermon
Because the shepherd is a person before a preacher.
Most churches have a pastor-shaped slot in their mental furniture.
You know the one.
- It holds sermons.
- It dispenses counseling.
- It refills the volunteer pipeline.
- It occasionally performs weddings, funerals, and emergency spiritual CPR.
- It smiles on command and never needs a nap, a boundary, or a second opinion.
And if we’re honest, we can treat that slot like a religious utility:
“When I need something, I flip the switch.
When I’m done, I complain about the brightness.”
That’s not a shepherd. That’s a vending machine with a Bible.
Some churches don’t fail their pastor with malice.
They don’t reject him. They just stop noticing.
Not all at once—but slowly, quietly, by a thousand tiny cuts:
unspoken expectations, sideways criticism, chronic disengagement, and the spiritual hobby of “sharing concerns” with no conversation attached.
Read this as invitation, not indictment. I’m writing from three generations of ministry life—not to assign guilt, but to hand you perspective and practical handles. The goal is simple: make the shepherd’s invisible costs shared, scheduled, and sustainable.
A pastor is a man with a soul, a calling, a nervous system, and a family who can hear the church’s opinion of him through drywall (ask me how I know). Before he’s a preacher, he’s a person. And if we miss that, we don’t just risk burnout—we risk training ourselves to love ministry outputs more than the human God placed among us.
This chapter is the reset button: person → calling → role.
Because Scripture doesn’t introduce shepherds as “content creators.”
It shows them as men who watch for souls—the kind of weight that doesn’t sit neatly on a calendar or clock out at 5 p.m. And it tells the church something sobering:
“Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account…”
—Hebrews 13:17
That isn’t permission to idolize a pastor.
It’s a warning label for a church: don’t treat your watchman like a service counter.
Fence-Line Moment (Reveal): The Hallway Moment
Picture a fluorescent-lit hallway. The kind that makes time feel like a slow leak.
A pastor is standing outside a hospital room—back against the wall, tie loosened, phone buzzing with three other needs he can’t meet at the same time.
Behind the door: a family doing the particular kind of crying that feels like it’s coming from under the ribcage.
He isn’t there as a performer. There’s no crowd. No mic. No “good word, pastor.”
He’s just… present.
He prays quietly with them. Not fancy. Not polished. The kind of prayer that sounds like a man talking to God because he has nowhere else to put the weight.
Then he steps out into the hallway again.
And here’s the moment: he checks his phone and sees a message.
Not from the hospital. Not from the grieving family.
From a church member.
It’s not evil. It’s not even intentionally harsh.
It’s just… consumer-flavored:
“Hey Pastor—quick question. Why didn’t you visit my cousin last week?
Also we should really talk about the nursery schedule.”
And the pastor—who just held a family together with prayer and presence—reads it, exhales, and you can watch him do the math in real time:
“How do I answer this without sounding defensive… while also not collapsing… and also being kind… and also still having a family at home?”
This is where the gate disappears.
Because in church life, “pastor” can quietly become code for: public property.
Not in a dramatic, headline way. In a low-grade, everyday way:
- the expectation that his phone is a community bulletin board,
- the assumption that his time belongs to whoever is most urgent,
- the unspoken rule that his home is “ministry-adjacent,” not actually his.
And the part people don’t see is what happens later.
He goes home.
His spouse hears his exhaustion in the way he sets his keys down.
His kids notice the same thousand-yard stare they’ve seen before.
And the church—without meaning to—has taught the household a strange lesson:
“Your husband/dad exists for us first.”
That’s not shepherding. That’s extraction.
Preaching is public. Shepherding is constant.
And sometimes the most exhausting part isn’t the crisis—it’s the feeling that your humanity is treated like an inconvenience.
Highlight the Need: Personhood under public life
A lot of churches carry an unspoken fantasy:
He’ll always be steady.
He’ll always be available.
He’ll always be okay.
It’s not usually said out loud. It’s just assumed—until he shows signs of being human.
But shepherds are not invincible. They’re not even spiritually “less human.” They’re simply assigned.
And that assignment is personal.
One of the most clarifying lines in the New Testament about ministry posture isn’t flashy. It’s tender—and honestly, it’s terrifying if you’ve ever been the one carrying the load:
“We were willing to have imparted unto you,
not the gospel of God only,
but also our own souls…”
—1 Thessalonians 2:8
Read that again: not a message only—souls.
A faithful pastor isn’t just distributing sermons. He is investing himself.
Which means when a church treats him like a function, it doesn’t just “lack appreciation.” It commits a kind of slow violence against the calling—and often against his home.
The loneliness paradox
(public life, private distance)
Pastors are among the most public members in your congregation… and can become some of the most lonely.
Because many people don’t know how to be close to a shepherd without either:
- performing for him, or
- using him, or
- critiquing him like he’s an ongoing sermon series.
Some churches trust their pastor with confessions, crises, and marital grenade pins…
…but don’t trust him with something as basic as being tired, discouraged, or needing a week where he doesn’t carry everyone else’s emotional furniture.
Loneliness often begins when a pastor realizes:
- “Everyone knows me… but very few know me.”
- “People love what I can do… but do they love me?”
- “If I’m honest about my limits, will I be punished for it?”
- “If my family struggles, will the church treat that as a leadership failure?”
- “If I open up to someone here, will it come back to bite me?”
(The answer often feels like a default "yes").
The shepherd becomes “the strong one,” and everybody forgets he’s also one of Christ’s sheep—part of the body of Christ with an assignment to watch over your soul.
Wolf Sign: Pastor-shaped slot thinking
Wolves rarely show up wearing “Hello, I am a wolf” stickers. And they're not always people. Usually the wolf is a pattern.
🐺 Wolf Sign: Treating the pastor like a tool instead of a man
Category: Parasite + Fence/Gate failure
It sounds like:
- “We need you to…” (always need, never know)
- “Pastors shouldn’t…” (truth used as a club)
- “He’s paid to do this.” (said by someone who would instantly quit if paid the same)
- “I don’t want to bother him… unless I really need something.” (translation: no relationship, only emergencies)
- “If he was really called, he wouldn’t have boundaries.” (translation: we prefer access over health)
It looks like:
- expecting one man to do the work of many, then calling it “high standards”
- criticizing from a distance instead of serving up close
- treating attendance as optional while expecting pastoral availability as mandatory
- greeting the pastor while ignoring his family
- loving the sermon but never asking about his week
- expecting access to him while refusing accountability to him
- “sharing concerns” with everyone except the person who can actually address them
- evaluating him like a product review: “7/10, preaching was mid this week.”
A church can “support the pastor” in theory while slowly extracting the life out of him in practice.
And here’s the terrifying part: the culture can do this while still using Bible language.
The wolf isn’t always a person. Sometimes it’s the air everyone breathes.
Tools + Resources (Equip): Household posture + rod respect
A healthy church doesn’t just say, “We appreciate you.”
A healthy church communicates:
- “We see you.”
- “We’re glad you’re here.”
- “We care about your home.”
- “You’re allowed to be human without losing our trust.”
- “Your wife and kids aren’t accessories to your calling—they’re people we will cherish.”
This doesn’t mean pastors get a free pass.
It means they get what every Christian should get: love without exploitation and accountability without dehumanizing.
And it requires a posture shift:
1) Household posture: treat him like a person you belong with
Not “staff” you manage. Not “resource” you consume.
A shepherd is part of the household of God—even if his assignment is different.
Practical indicators of household posture:
- you learn his story (not just his sermons)
- you know his family’s names and treat them like real people
- you don’t make the home pay for the church’s disorganization
- you bring care that isn’t attached to an agenda
2) Rod respect: the shepherd must be allowed to set lanes
Psalm 23 reminds us the shepherd carries both rod and staff:
- the staff comforts and guides,
- the rod protects and corrects.
Some churches want “staff comfort” (care, gentleness, constant presence)
and “rod output” (preaching, leadership, solutions)
but they resist “rod respect”—the shepherd’s authority to say no, to correct, to set lanes, to clarify expectations, to protect his home, and to stop chaos from becoming normal.
If a church punishes a shepherd every time he sets a healthy fence, it’s not just being “demanding.”
It’s training itself to become unsafe.
Two questions that change the whole relationship
Use these to shift from consumer to co-laborer:
- “What’s heavy right now?”
- “What’s one way we can remove weight this month?”
Then listen like you mean it. No fixing. No debate. No follow-up demand.
Just understanding—and then action.
How to Help This Week (Implement): 3–5 actions + one scheduled step
Pick one. Do it quietly. Do it sincerely. No grand gesture required.
- Fuel him with specific encouragement (not generic praise).
Send one sentence using this simple template:
- What I saw: “When you said ___…”
- Why it mattered: “…it helped me ___…”
- What fruit it produced: “…and it changed ___.”
-
Learn one story detail deeper than small talk.
Try: “What’s one moment God used to confirm your calling?”
Or: “What’s been surprisingly hard about pastoring?”
Then—wild concept—listen like a Christian. -
Remove one upstream task that normally hits his brain/phone.
Pick one load-bearing thing and own it (even temporarily):
- volunteer follow-ups
- schedule coordination
- meal logistics (done sanely, not invasively)
- hospital-visit scheduling for non-urgent needs
- benevolence intake triage (with proper oversight)
- Include his household on purpose.
Greet spouse and kids by name. Eye contact. Warmth. No weirdness.
Treat them like family, not “ministry accessories.”
Scheduled next step (do not skip this):
Put a 15-minute check-in on your calendar 30 days from now:
“Ask what’s heavy + remove one weight.”
Support that isn’t scheduled becomes accidental. Accidental becomes absent.
Pasture Note
He’s a shepherd, not a vending machine.
If you want a church with spiritual depth, treat the shepherd as a whole person—
with limits, emotions, a home, and a real need for encouragement that doesn’t come attached to an agenda.
A pastor can preach the Word to you… and still need you to look him in the face and remember:
He’s not just a sermon.